


on the back of a hurricane (that started turning)

by fromeden



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Valentine's Day, cute bickering!!!, not really fluff but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromeden/pseuds/fromeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Y'know, as you can probably tell, I'm not opposed to violence," she adds, still glaring. "I'm Pre-Med; I know which nerves to hit, which pressure points are the most vulnerable."</p><p>He fucking <em>snorts</em> at her. That's it, she hates this guy.</p><p>(or, it's valentine's day. clarke loves purple skittles and bellamy loves red ones. there's only one bag left.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the back of a hurricane (that started turning)

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentine's day!! 
> 
> this is kind of based on [this](http://aprilofrp.tumblr.com/post/110861839346/since-valentines-day-is-coming-up-a-plot-where) post, but altered a bit, obviously.
> 
> the title is from when you were young by the killers.
> 
> and it's dedicated to kaycee bc she's amazing.
> 
> enjoy!!!

Clarke  _hates_ Valentine's Day.

 

It isn't in a cliché, nonconformist way, either. It's just that, well, she broke up with her boyfriend of a whole  _year_ last week for cheating on her (he was actually cheating  _with_ her, but she didn't know that — who cares about technicalities, right?). Her first legitimate boyfriend, her first serious relationship, and she ends up being the Other Woman. A whole fucking year and she didn't suspect a thing.

 

Raven attends college a town over, which is coincidentally where Finn grew up. She's smart, funny, absolutely _gorgeous_  — and, not to mention, his high school sweetheart. They've known each other since they were _kids_ , for Christ's sake, and he thought it was a good idea to cheat on her. For a whole _year_. Raven didn't deserve that, neither of them did. Clarke still feels horrible about it and she's allowed to sulk, okay.

 

(And by sulk, she means head to the nearby convenience store, stock up on wine and discounted candy, binge watch _Orphan Black,_ possibly with Drake playing in the background and not think about Finn Fucking Collins, because she's better than that.)

 

So, that's exactly what she does.

 

* * *

 

For a few minutes, Clarke does a one-eighty and actually  _loves_ Valentine's Day.

 

She's in Heaven, really, her very own Comfort Food Heaven; practically _everything_ is on discount. Which is why she takes her sweet time going around the store, making sure she knows all her options. She plans on having the best night ever and this is _very_ serious business.

 

Red wine? Check.

A party sized bag of Tortilla chips? Check.

Salsa? Check.

Sour Skittles? — _Wait a minute_.

 

There's a guy; tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, star-like freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, and most importantly, he's reaching out for the last bag of sour Skittles. The bag that's _hers_ , thank you very much. 

 

Clarke makes a run for it.

 

And, well, if he ends up complaining to the store manager about her _hip-checking_ him out of the way, she'll deny it.

 

"This," she says, waving the bag in the guy's face. "Is mine."

 

Clarke feels smug for about two seconds, two victorious seconds, before he actually has the audacity to grab it from her.

 

"Nah, it's mine," he retorts, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a smirk. She wants to punch him. She's not above punching a stranger over a bag of Skittles.

 

"Listen," she starts, narrowing her eyes. "That bag is mine, I saw it first. So," Clarke reaches out for it, giving him the meanest glare she can muster when he dangles the bag in front of her face, making sure it's out of her reach.

 

He has a good few inches on her. Fuck this.

 

"Y'know, as you can probably tell, I'm not opposed to violence," she adds, still glaring. "I'm Pre-Med; I know which nerves to hit, which pressure points are the most vulnerable."

 

He fucking _snorts_ at her. That's it, she hates this guy.

 

Clarke elbows him in the stomach. He totally deserves it.

 

That earns her a grimace — and, _yes_ , he lowers his arms a tiny fraction. She stands on her tip-toes and steals the Skittles back.

 

"Stop hitting me," he tells her, glowering. His eyes are shining with something, though. _Huh_. Maybe anger. "I get it, you have issues, but I got to the sour Skittles first, and then you had to fucking _hip-check_ me."

 

"Go choke on a purple Skittle," Clarke deadpans, crossing her arms and keeping the bag protectively between them and her chest.

 

He raises an eyebrow. "Gross," he spits. "If I have to choke on a Skittle, it's going to be on a red one — they're a hell of a lot better than purple." There's even a hint of disgust on his face. What the _hell_.

 

She's offended. She's more than offended; she practically lives off purple Skittles.

 

Clarke practically sneers. "Figures you'd have such bad taste."

 

He stares at her for a few beats. "Look, we clearly both want this bag," he tells her. She shoots him a look that says  _I already have it_ , but stays silent. "I like red, you like purple — c'mon, think preschool," he says mockingly. "It starts with an 's' and rhymes with bear."

 

She quirks an eyebrow, scoffing at him. "You want to  _share_ it? With a stranger?" Clarke's confused, to put it lightly. He goes from fighting with her over the bag to offering to share, all within a few minutes.

 

He just shrugs, a little too nonchalant, like he spends all his free time sharing candy with people he doesn't know. "Better than nothing. I mean, I'll even buy, if you share some of that wine."

 

Red Skittles Guy nods at the bottle of wine in her shopping cart. _Her_ wine. The bottle she's planning on drinking later that night —  _alone_. 

 

(She may or may not be pouting.)

 

"But —" She starts, fully prepared to refuse and run off with the sour Skittles anyway. Clarke realizes he'd probably run after her, though, so she reconsiders. "Okay, yeah. Fine. Whatever."

 

He squints, like he's assessing her. "Don't sound so excited." She wants to punch him again.

 

"Fuck off. Go buy the Skittles," she tells him, nodding towards the express checkout lane. She wants to get it over with,  _Orphan Black_  and Drake are calling her name.

 

* * *

 

Clarke doesn't know what she got herself into.

 

Before she knows it, she's trailing behind Red Skittles Guy into the parking lot; hell, she even accepts his invitation to split the candy and wine  _inside_ his car. 

 

He manages to open the bottle without a corkscrew — he does it with an army knife, she's a little impressed.

 

Two cups (plastic, courtesy of the convenience store) of wine and a few minutes of complete, uncomfortable silence later, she comes to a realization: here she is, in some guy's car, about to share her favourite candy with him and she doesn't even know his  _name_. 

 

She tells him just that. "As much as I'd enjoy calling you Red Skittles Guy, I think I should at least know your name — because we're, y'know, sharing a bag of sour Skittles and wine, of all things."

 

"Bellamy," he tells her. There's a ghost of a smile on his face, the corners of his lips turned slightly upwards. And okay, wow, she can get used to that; he has a nice smile.

 

She shakes her head, tells herself it's _obviously_  the wine talking.

 

(She's not a lightweight, she's in denial.)

 

Clarke reaches for the Skittles, needing something to busy herself with. "I'm Clarke," she finally says, opening the bag and popping a Skittle in her mouth. Her lips twist into a grimace; the first one is always particularly sour.

 

The smirk's back on his face. Great. "So, Clarke, what brings you on a convenience store run? On this  _wonderful_ day, no less."

 

She rolls her eyes. "I needed to buy things," is what she settles with.

 

Judging by the look on Bellamy's face, he doesn't buy the bullshit she's selling — and rightfully so.

 

"Fine. Cheating ex-boyfriend," Clarke frowns. "Happy?"

 

He looks at her, a little _too_ pensive considering they met about an hour ago. "No, not really. I didn't push, so."

 

"Right. Well," she shrugs. "Your turn," she tells him, a challenging look on her face. It's only fair.

 

Bellamy narrows his eyes at her, she gives him an innocent smile; all teeth and not exactly reaching her eyes. He sighs, running a hand through his dark curls. "My sister."

 

Clarke's pretty sure her eyebrows disappear into her hairline.

 

She prompts him to continue. Because, well, she can be  _extremely_ intrusive when she wants to be _._

 

"And she has a boyfriend. Her first serious relationship, actually," he adds, a small frown on his lips. "It's the first Valentine's Day we're not spending together, y'know? We always make sure to see the cheesiest Rom-Com, just to spend the whole time making snarky comments," Bellamy lets out a small laugh. A few more cups of wine, and she'd probably call it melodic. "It's, uh — it's nice."

 

She smiles, albeit a little teasing. "Cute."

 

He blinks. "Shut up," he says, his frown deepening.

 

(Clarke does not, emphasis on  _not_ , find it endearing. Nope. Not at all.)

 

* * *

 

She's not one to get drunk off wine,  _especially_ when she's sharing a bottle, but it still gives her a good enough buzz; fills the pit of her stomach with warmth. What it also does, however, is prompt the slow, lazy smile she's sending Bellamy; the same guy she wanted to punch _twice_ earlier. Over a bag Skittles _. That_ Bellamy. _  
_

 

(Bellamy _Blake._ They exchange last names sometime between their third and fourth cups. While Clarke's still doing her undergraduate, majoring in Pre-Med and minoring in Art, he's in graduate school. "Classical Civilization," he tells her.)

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a worn down, paperback of _The Iliad_ by Homer. God, that  _nerd_. Who the hell keeps a copy of an Ancient Greek poem in their car? Bellamy Blake, that's who.

 

Clarke finds a stray Skittle and throws it at him, waving the book when she gets his attention.

 

"Here," she tosses it into Bellamy's lap. "Read it — out loud. I want to listen." She  _does_. She's interested. It's _not_ because Clarke wants to hear his voice. Fuck you, she barely knows him.

 

He blinks, once, twice, before raising an eyebrow. "Didn't peg you for the Trojan War type."

 

"I'm not," she affirms. "Like red Skittles, it's more  _your_ thing. Your taste is beyond me. So, c'mon, get to reading."

 

He does. His dark eyes flicker across the pages of the paperback, the smooth baritone of his voice reciting Homer's poetic words.

 

This is  _almost_ as good as the night she had planned. Sorry, Drake.

 

(And, well, if she uses Bellamy's momentary distraction to sneakily save her number into his phone under 'purple skittles are better', he doesn't have to know. Not yet, anyway.)

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh!!! i hope y'all liked it, i really do.


End file.
